


In which Garak tries to be subtle, but finds that Bashir knows him better than he thought.

by sudoarrin



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Birthday, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 15:36:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13126671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sudoarrin/pseuds/sudoarrin
Summary: It's Julian's birthday, and Garak wants to get his dear doctor a gift. This is a startreksecretsanta 2017 gift for staarcaptain.Happy holidays!





	In which Garak tries to be subtle, but finds that Bashir knows him better than he thought.

Julian didn’t usually think of himself as an idiot, but right now, he certainly found the description apt. While he often delved into “fool” and “socially inept” he rarely made mistakes of the intellectual kind.

As a doctor, he knew all the reasons to establish and keep a regular sleep schedule, and the reasons why coffee could not be substituted for two out of three meals. But forgotten about midnight deadlines on grant applications pushed his healthy practices out the window and he had been awake for 19 hours.

After submitting his paper 2 minutes before the deadline-noon Earth time, 3:00 am station time, he had crashed into slumber on a medical bed. Four hours later, at the start of his shift, he had been gently shaken awake by a nurse, who handed him a steaming mug. That was when he looked on his padd, and found a message from the Cortillian Grant Awards offices.

 

Dear Doctor Bashir,

 

Thank you for submitting your research paper.

While the selection committee does appreciate that you submitted your paper within the deadline, an initial read though appears to suggest that this is not a final edition. We would hate to have simple mistakes eliminate the ability of brilliant minds to gain further research resources, and so we will grant you until 12:00, stardate 2374 Earth standard time to send us the correct version.

 

Sincerely,

Cortillian Grant Committee

 

With mounting horror he read what he had submitted the previous night.

It was a mess. It started out fine, but with each page the quality slipped downwards until he found himself reading a nonsensical conclusion that ended with “THE END” in huge letters.

 

He had four hours to rewrite his conclusion. Four hours to write a ten page conclusion that would not only win the grant, but make up for his mistake last night. Julian took a long swig of his drink and blearily stumbled over to his station to work.

 

* * *

 

3.75 hours later, Garak was getting impatient. ~~Not that anyone could tell.~~ Punctuality was a virtue and previously the Doctor has always been a virtuous man. Earlier in their relationship, he would have left and chided the Doctor at their next meeting. But now, the value of their meetings-and especially this meeting-was high enough that he could tolerate Julian’s fallacies. On the table in front of him lay a book, and in that book was a bookmark.

 

Garak had stitched the bookmark slowly, in the slow hours of the day, and the hours before he slept each night. One side was a complicated, angular pattern, and the other a night view of a Cardassian jungle. Knowing that The Doctor’s 30th birthday would fall on their next lunch meeting, and loath to see the bridge between them broken by clumsy affections, Garak had created a plan that would end with Julian receiving the bookmark, seemingly by chance. Garak would have gotten the doctor a mediocre gift, or simply wished him happy birthday if all he saw in the man was a witty conversationalist. But in between the banter, Garak had found that he truly respected and cared for the doctor. It was strange at first, feeling such a depth of affection for a person without a history of deceit and pain between them. Their meetings felt like sunbathing, as Garak could feel the secrets and years slip away as his world narrowed to a table, a Doctor, and whatever book they had read last. To be valued for his mind instead of his skills was a welcome change.

For weeks, he had felt all this fluttering in the air between them-an appreciation that went a different direction than pure friendship. He had tried to keep it light and casual so that when he had to cut and run, he could tell himself that it hadn’t been love, as he had done so many times.

But, funny enough, it had been disgustingly easy to fall for the handsome smart-as-a-whip starfleet doctor who was not so naive after two years on the edge of space.

 

Casually checking that the Doctor was not on his way over to their table, Garak opened the book to the bookmark. The overwhelming temptation to move the gift to a different, safer place made Garak purse his lips slightly. He paused, looking at it for 1, 2 beats, then with an exhale carefully closed the book so that the bookmark would not be jostled form its location.

 

Three minutes later, the Doctor arrived at the replimat, and Garak could easily see that the man was a mess. Hair mussed, an empty mug in hand, the doctor slumped into the chair across from Garak without much of his usual energy or grace.

 

“Doctor, are you well? Appearing in such an unbecoming manner is unlike you.”

“Unbecoming? That implies you usually find me becoming.” Bashir said. Garak tilted his head slightly and smiled as towards an amusing child.

Unsure of how to answer for fear of being too truthful, or too harsh, Garak switched the topic

and began to grill the poor Doctor about his latest Cardassian read. It was cruel, yes, but fine literature could be appreciated regardless of the Doctor’s coherency. At the end of their admittedly one sided debate (It was not as much fun with exhaustion smothering the Doctors quick wit, and Bashir gave in to Garak’s arguments) Garak stood, and went around to the Doctor’s side.

“One last thing doctor-Now that you understand and appreciate Shoggoth’s writings for the artistry they are, I believe we can move on to Preloc.” Garak said as he reached over Bashir’s shoulder and picked up the book that had sat there since the beginning of the meal. He offered it to a yawning Bashir.

“An old fashioned book-” a sudden rush of devious amusement pulled Bashir’s mouth into a youthful smirk. Garak found himself smirking too-there were times when the Doctor’s thoughts came out of left field and left Garak struggling to respond to the blistering attack or thoughtful observation, but there were also times when Garak could see through the Doctor’s head like glass. This time was one of the latter.

“Is this a birthday gift Garak? How thoughtful!”

“It is your birthday? I congratulate you on your age dear Doctor. I apologize, but this is not a gift. This is merely a loan. I found it in my collection while pondering what high literature would manage to appeal to your terrible taste.” The Cardassian ended his words with a despairing look towards the heavens. Bashir was undaunted.

“I find it hard to believe a spy would not know my birthday, Garak.”

“I am no more a spy than you are, but who am I to kill your youthful fantasies?” Ignoring the jab, the Doctor looked around as if suspicious of being overheard before leaning in to continue in a theatrical whisper.

“What if I _am_ a spy Garak? How would a ‘simple tailor’ as yourself know?”

“If you are indeed a spy, I shall write to Starfleet and recommend they train their spies better.”

 

* * *

 

Reading in bed that night Julian found a beautiful bookmark on page 59. The line at which it rested read _“Although true loyalty does not require love, it is better with.”_

* * *

 

Garak spent the night thinking himself a fool. Giving him the bookmark was acceptable. Placing it to create a declaration of love? Not at all. When he woke in the morning, the nervous energy had only settled more in his bones.

 

Around lunch Garak was trying to help Morn pick a fabric for a skirt when he saw Julian at the entrance of the shop. He put down the two fabrics he had been holding up, and said “Morn, I’ll leave these for you while I deal with the Doctor. If these do not suit you, I believe I have some Andorian silk in the back.”

“My dear Doctor, come to purchase a simple tailors wares?” Garak called out as he made his way through the show tables to the Doctor. Starfleet, from what he could tell, lived in their uniforms. The rare times when the weren’t wearing them, they wore the most hideous things they could find. He had told the doctor this many times, but he had never come into the shop before now. Garak already had a couple ideas for clothing that would suit Bashir.

“Actually, I came about the book. There was this bookmark inside.” Bashir explained as he held up the bookmark to Garak. Garak looked blandly curious as he glanced it over.

“Ah, that old thing. I hardly remembered I had it. In light of your recent birthday, why don’t you have it?” Bashir’s face lit up with joy, but suspicion clouded it a second later.

“Are you sure? This is beautiful, probably handmade, a piece of art. Don’t feel like you have too get me anything. Our lunches together are more than enough.”

“I have no great connection to it, take it.”

Bashir looked back down at the gift in his hand, then up into Garak’s eyes with unguarded appreciation.

“Thank you.”

The moment over, Bashir turned to exit, and Garak to return to Morn. He was only a meter away from Morn when he heard Bashir call out from the doorway.

“You planned this didn’t you? My birthday, the book, the bookmark?”

“My dear Doctor, conspiracy theories are unbecoming.” Garak called back over his shoulder, trying to draw the Doctor back into their usual light banter and away from the truth.

When he got no response, he turned to find his doorway empty.

 

After Morn had left, Garak smiled and thought back to his meeting with Bashir. It had gone perfectly. He had the bookmark. He hadn’t noticed where the bookmark was. All was fine.

 

(All was not fine)

 

Their next lunch was one of the best they’d ever had. Bashir had an admittedly clever take on the text, and put up a strong defense and offense. But Garak was sheer stubbornness, and their debate ended a draw.

 

Garak expected Bashir to bring up a new topic, but the man was fiddling with some object in his lap. Garak waited patiently. After a couple moments, Bashir lifted his hands, and the bookmark they were holding, onto the table.

Bashir looked up and spoke. It wasn’t exuberant energy that filled his words, but nervous energy.

“Garak, when I found the bookmark, it was at the line _“Although true loyalty does not require love, it is better with.”_ Bashir searched for a reaction by Garak, and when he found none dropped his eyes to the bookmark and continued speaking.

“I might be making a fool of myself, but I don’t think everything involving this-” he gestured with the bookmark “- was a coincidence. If it is, forget I said all this. Is it?” Bashir looked back up and the hopeful expression on his face killed the deflections and lies died in Garak’s throat.

 

“No, my dear Doctor.”

 

The next week, as Garak and Bashir held hands under the table, several bets were resolved, and in a completely unrelated event Jadzia Dax gained a small fortune.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


End file.
